July 1929

An isolated Yorkshire estate was the last place Regina wanted to spend her summer; alas, here she was. And despite her reluctance, it wasn't as terrible as she assumed it would be.

It helped that Henry was happy—in fact, he was having the time of his life.

The estate belonged to Stephen Conreid. He was a viscount… or something. Regina hadn't paid attention as Mal explained it. She'd been too busy trying to find a way out of it. But Stephen was on a hunting trip in Scotland and he'd be gone for two months, and his wife, Leah, invited Mal—so, of course, Mal invited Regina and Henry.

Mal was persistent, and every time Regina suggested Mal go alone, leaving her and Henry at the London flat, Mal balked, insisting they all could benefit from some time away. And arguing with Mal when she thought something was a good idea was often like banging your head against a wall. So, Regina gave in—and though she was loath to admit it, the quiet of the estate was…nice.

It was nice to get away from the seamstress's shop—and her fingers were certainly glad for the break. It was nice to have a change of scenery, to have new places to go and new faces to see. And, it was nice to build new memories with Henry, something that was different from the usual.

Stephen and Leah had three children—Philip, who was just Henry's age, and twin girls, Audrey and Aurora, who were two years younger. Henry and Philip had a nearly immediate bond. They spent their mornings and afternoons exploring the woods and skipping rocks in the stream that cut through the estate. Henry accompanied the Conreid children on their riding lessons, painted with Audrey and Aurora, and practiced archery with Philip. They all had picnics together and played with the cats that lived in the barn, and when it rained, they played games of tag all throughout the house. Henry loved the large library in the house, and their hostess, Leah—or Mrs. Conreid to Henry—allowed him to borrow whatever he wanted. In the weeks they'd been at the estate, Henry read six novels cover to cover, and that morning, she'd seen him carrying another stack up to his room. It also didn't hurt that there was some sort of pudding or cake served after every meal.

Mal, too, seemed to be enjoying her stay—in the aloof sort of unimpressed way that she showed her enjoyment. And when Mal was content, she was easier to be around.

Still, the house and its deep mahogany features reminded her of the life she'd left behind and Leah's giddiness to be rid of her husband for a handful of too-short months was uncomfortably familiar. For the most, that was easy enough to ignore—she was skilled at deflecting. Yet every now and then, she felt overwhelmed, like she was suffocating.

Robin's letters helped.

She'd been mildly worried that there would be some sort of miscommunication, that her letter explaining her summer plans would be lost, that Robin's letters would go unanswered, that they'd find themselves exactly where they'd been the summer before, cut off from the little communication they had and only left to wonder. Yet on the day they arrived at the estate, the housekeeper informed her there was a letter waiting at her bedside. She'd held her breath as she followed, finally exhaling at the sight of Robin's clean, blocked handwriting. And from there, their correspondence picked up seamlessly where it left off, not missing a beat.

A letter arrived for her that morning—a nice distraction from the insufferable July heat, she'd decided. And for a while, it proved to be exactly that.

She settles into a chair in the drawing room, her legs wrapped over its arm and her head resting against its high back, reading the letter.

In his last letter, he'd included a few summer recipes from some old copies of Ladies Home Journal he'd been gifted. One was for a potato salad, another was for raspberry tarts, and another for fresh-squeezed lemonade. He'd told her it was his Fourth of July celebration menu. Much to the chagrin of the house cook, she and Henry had tried them all—it wasn't surprising that the tarts were Henry's favorite.

She'd written back, telling him exactly that, and then finally asked a question she'd wondered for years now, and in this letter, she laughed gently to herself as he explained his absolute fascination (she'd have called it an obsession) with Ladies Home Journal—and immediately, her light laughter faded, replaced by a squeezing deep in her chest.

Robin explained that after Marian's death the majority of the people in his life felt he should give Roland to a relative—an aunt or a cousin, possibly even send him up to Canada to live with Marco and Eugenia—because there was no way two bachelors could raise a child. He'd been understandably offended, but when he considered it, he had to admit there wasn't much he knew about raising a child. When people talked about their favorite childhood memories, they almost always centered around their mother—the meatloaf she made, the cookies she baked, the Easter baskets she prepared and wrapped, the clothes she sewed for them—and he didn't want Roland to miss out simply because he was stubborn. So, he'd bought a copy of Ladies Home Journal from a newsstand, and worked his way through the recipes. Then he bought another, and another after that. He read about how to remove the stains toddlers inevitably found themselves covered in, how to let down the hem of their pants when they became too short after a growth spurt and how to soothe a toothache and a sore throat.

It hurts thinking of Robin without Roland—and Roland without Robin—and she finds herself thinking back to that cool fall night when Robin was late to pick up Roland at school. She remembers how uneasy Roland was and how he kept looking past her to see if he could make out Robin's truck in the distance, and though they weren't yet friends, her heart ached for Robin and the obvious panic he'd felt. The thought of separating them seems so unfair, so cruel…

Regina turns the page and finds that Robin's transitioned to a new subject—a house that he's building. The thought nearly takes her breath away and she finds herself feeling awkwardly unsure of how she feels about it and pushes away a nagging little voice that tells her he needs to move on with his life, that she has him stuck in a rut.

Robin included a clipping of the house—an advertisement from the Sears and Roebuck catalog—and she can't deny that it's charming. It's a small, two-story home with a large porch and relatively spacious rooms. It's a home meant to house a family.

Bristling, she folds the letter up and drops it into her lap as her arms fold—suddenly, she's hot and the light muslin fabric of her dress suddenly feels like her skin is suffocating. Her skirt clung to the back of her legs and her forehead felt sticky—and after a week of it, the heat seemed unending. It made her queasy.

Rising from the chair, she moves to the window, pulling back the curtains, hoping for some reprieve. But as her eyes press closed and the sun pours into the room, she realizes that today there isn't even a slightest breeze to offset the heat.

For days, it's been sweltering, but today was absolutely hellish…

"Lemonade?"

Regina turns to see Leah, fresh-faced and hair swept up from her neck and shoulders, smiling a bit awkwardly as she stands in the entryway to the drawing room holding a tray with two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

Regina smiles. "I haven't had lemonade in…" She pauses and then laughs, remembering the bitter concoction she and Henry made a few weeks before—too much lemon and not enough sugar, they'd decided. "Well, I haven't had drinkable lemonade in years. Probably since I was a teenager."

"I thought Americans drank it all of the time."

"When I was little, I suppose, I did."

Walking briskly to the center of the room, Leah sets down the tray and pours two glasses. She keeps one for herself, and extends the other to Regina. "Tell me how I did… or well, how the kitchen maid did. She found your recipe and thought you might like it, but, um… she put her own little twist on it."

Crossing the room, Regina lets out an audible sigh as her hand wraps around the ice cold glass—and when she goes to take a sip, she can't help but notice a familiar juniper and pine aroma that nearly overpowers the lemon and sugar. "Something tells me this isn't the sort of lemonade I drank as a child."

"Her twist may have been one of the adult variety."

Regina grins and takes a sip—more than anything, it's gin with a spoonful of sugar and a splash of lemon juice. It's far better than her attempt and it's cool and refreshing, as it slides down her throat. It sends a welcomed little shiver down her spine.

"You know," Leah says. "You've been here for more than a month and we've barely talked."

A grin tugs at the corner of Regina's mouth. "Mal keeps you occupied."

Leah doesn't shy away from the innuendo, instead she raises her glass. "Well, I mean to make the most of my husband's absence." Leah smirks. "But that doesn't mean you and I shouldn't be friends. And I'd wager you and I have more in common than either of us thinks."

Regina sips her lemonade and nods, glad for the distraction. In truth, she's never been one to have many friends. There weren't many she let in; but she does like Leah and Leah seems a safe bet. She's bold and voices her opinion unapologetically. They had common upbringings and educations, married men they couldn't have cared less for, and were wholly devoted to their children. But Leah also had her secrets.

"Of course, when Mallory told me that you'd be joining her, I'll admit, I had my reservations."

"Not keen on having a stranger lurking around your house?"

Her eyes narrow. "Well it wasn't quite that." Leah takes a quick sip of her drink, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I was jealous."

Regina's brows arch. "Of me?"

"You and Mallory are awfully close, and well, you do live with her and she is raising your son." She pauses, hesitating a little—almost as if embarrassed. "I wasn't entirely sure of the sort of arrangement the two of you had."

For a moment, Regina isn't sure what it say and she isn't sure what Mal has told Leah or what secrets she's chosen to share and which ones she's kept to herself. So, Regina grins, gently offering, "Mal and I have known each other since we were girls. We're like sisters to each other."

"I see that now." Regina watches as a coy smile twists into Leah's face. "But still, I don't know many women who'd be comfortable in the situation you're in."

"Like I said, Mal is like a sister to me. We grew up together. We're used to each other."

"So, you just… look the other way and ignore her dalliances?"

"I wouldn't say I ignore them," Regina says, her eyes narrowing as she tries to figure out the direction Leah's going in—she still senses a hint of jealousy, but there's something else there, too—though, she can't quite pin-point what it is. "But I'm not bothered by them, if that's what you're getting at."

"I am—in a way."

Leah sips her lemonade, and leans back, looking perplexed. "I don't know how to do this."

Regina's head tips to the side. "This?"

"Make friends. I always want friends, but I've no idea how to make friends." She shrugs, looking a bit shy. "As evidenced by this is the first proper conversation since you arrived."

"We've talked."

"About dinner and the weather."

"Still, that's conversation."

"Usually, my interactions with other women have one of two purposes—I need something done for me or… well, to me."

Regina smirks. "I'm not very good at it either. I think the only reason I'm friends with Mal is because we met when we were children. I wasn't jaded yet."

She pauses for a moment, her fingers rubbing at the condensation on her glass as she bites at her lip—based on Leah's comment, the two are more similar than Leah realizes. But she doesn't want to overshare; instead, she prefers to keep Leah at an arm's length, at least for now.

"I've always envied her, though," Regina continues.

"Why is that?"

"She's free to do what she pleases with whomever she pleases." Regina shrugs and draws in a quick breath. "The rest of us are trapped, to some degree, anyway."

"You're married."

Regina laughs. "I mention feeling trapped and you assume that I'm married."

"Am I wrong?"

"No."

"I thought you might be a widow—"

"I don't have that kind of luck." Leah laughs out in a burst and Regina smiles, trying not to dwell too long on her situation with Leopold and how she's gotten to the point where she is. "My mother matched me up with the oldest, dullest, and richest widower she could find. I think he had more life in him than she realized—after all, he outlived her, so she couldn't quite benefit from his wealth the way she thought she might."

"A new, young bride tends to do that for old men."

Regina shudders. "And they have the opposite effect on their young wives."

Leah laughs again. "And so, you… packed up your kid and moved across the ocean? That's an awfully bold move." Regina nods—it was a bold move, and far more complicated than Leah made it seem. But she doesn't elaborate, and Leah continues. "I was promised to Stephen before I was born. He's only a year older than I am, but still as dull and lifeless as they come. We married the day after my eighteenth birthday."

"Ah—one of those marriages."

"And, truly, for the longest time, the arrangement suited me. It kept me from having to participate in the inane mating rituals my peers participated in. I got to get all dressed up and go to all of the parties without any of the pressure of finding suitors."

"And then reality hit."

"It most certainly did."

Regina nods, remembering those first few weeks after her wedding to Leopold and how isolated she felt from the rest of the world—how bored she was, how out of place she felt. "Is… that when your affairs started?"

Leah stares for a moment. "Not immediately," she murmurs. "I did try to be a good wife, but the truth is that as dull as he is, I'm just not the sort of woman who should be somebody's wife."

"I didn't try," Regina easily admits, watching as a grin tugs up at the corner of Leah's mouth. "Not even for a second."

"So, I'm not the only one in this room with a penchant for affairs?"

For a moment, Regina pulls back for a moment. She could recount her affairs— the myriad of one night stands with footmen and chauffeurs who worked on the estates of Leo's friends, Daniel, of course, then Kathryn, and a string of meaningless flings that followed her until she met Robin. But Regina's never been one to divulge more information than necessary and though there was something about Leah that made her want to venture out on a limb and risk telling too much for the sake of having a friend who could relate to her, there were things better kept to herself. So, she allows herself to tentatively continue with the bits of story most relevant and safest.

"There was a stable boy at the country club where my husband and parents had memberships. He had brown hair and hazel eyes, and he wanted to be a veterinarian one day."

Before him, there'd been countless others—but of course, Daniel was the first who meant anything. Prior to Daniel, she didn't think she was capable of loving another person—prior to Daniel, her affairs could merely be chalked up to lust and loneliness. And perhaps curiosity.

"He's not the one who writes you letters, though."

Regina's eyes widen, though she's not entirely sure why it's surprising that Leah knows about Robin's letters. After all, they've been arriving every few days for weeks now. "No," she murmurs. "Daniel died in the war. Just weeks before it ended."

"Oh. I'm sorry. That's… awful."

"I am, too," Regina says, drawing in a breath that she slowly releases as she collects her thoughts. "I, um… I used to think that Daniel and I could run away together. That we could just… start a life somewhere else and just…"

"Raise your son together?"

Regina's eyes widen and suddenly, she's very aware of the open door—she thought she was being careful, coy, even. Perhaps she hadn't given Leah enough credit or perhaps her secrets weren't as guarded as she thought. She feels heat rising up the back of her neck. "How—"

"Mal didn't tell me, if that's what you're wondering." Leah bites down on her lip. "I just sort of… put the pieces together. You have a child who goes to school an ocean away and he has brown hair and hazel eyes. Your marriage is an unhappy one, and well… I was always quite good at mathematics."

Regina draws in a sharp breath and nods. "I have a whole web of lies covering up that secret."

Leah only shrugs, standing to refill her lemonade. "In a way, I think you're lucky," she says, looking back over her shoulder. "I lost a lover in the war, too. Except all I have of her is her Red Cross armband." Her lips purse as she turns, carrying the pitcher of lemonade to Regina. "That I had to steal."

"I'm so sorry," Regina murmurs.

"I'm not deluded into thinking that Mallory and I have some great love, but she's fun, we get on well, and even though she pretends to hate children, she's wonderful with them." Regina laughs, nodding with full understanding. "And, possibly most importantly, she knows how to keep her mouth shut, and… well… as you mentioned, has a freedom that allows her to be available."

Regina grins, feeling a bit unsettled, as Leah fills up her lemonade. "After Daniel, there were a lot of other affairs, but only two have meant anything to me."

"Robin Locksley being one of them."

Regina can't help her smile as she nods—and when Leah asks how they met, Regina launches into the story, giving a shortened version that still ends up being rather long. Leah doesn't seem to mind, though—she seems thoroughly caught up in the story.

"Can I… ask you something personal?" Leah asks as Regina's story tapers off with the explanation of the ticket Robin left on her dressing table after their one night together. "You have every right to say no."

"Everything about the conversation we're having is personal."

Leah grins. "I'll take that as a yes." Still, she waits for Regina to nod. "Why don't you just leave him—take your kid, marry Robin, and live happily ever after."

"The law doesn't work that way."

"You don't think he'd grant you the divorce?"

"He's too proud—too vindictive and controlling."

Leah nods, considering that. "So, you think he'd keep Henry, even if he knew that he wasn't Henry's father?"

Regina nods. "I'm… very certain that he knows, on some level, that Henry is not his son, but he's never said anything about it—"

"Are they close?"

"No."

"Oh." Leah looks taken aback. "I don't understand what incentive he has—he doesn't seem to like you and if he isn't close with your son, then why hold on?"

"He likes the idea of a son, and he loves the money attached to him." Leah's brows arch. "Henry has a trust. From my parents. Leo controls it until he's twenty-one."

"Ah—"

"It's all about the money for him. And image—you know, what his rich friends think and say about him."

"And so you figure… as long as you stay married, Henry can benefit from Leo's money."

"Money that I brought into the marriage and will never see again." Regina shrugs. "Leopold is wealthy, but not wealthy enough to satisfy him. He's a banker, so his entire life revolves around wealth, and measuring his against others', and…" Stopping, Regina sighs, remembering the tale she and Mal spun about an affair she'd had with Arthur and how Henry was a product of that affair. "In a strange way, it all balances in Henry's favor."

Leah nods, then scrunches her nose. "I hate money."

"I would hate it less if I had any control over it."

"Even then," Leah says, shaking her head. "I've no interest in it."

"That's because you've never gone without it."

Regina watches as Leah's face changes—there's something she's holding back, but not willing to share. And Regina doesn't prod. She likes to have her secrets, too. And more times than not, keeping secrets has been a means of survival.

"Well, if I wanted to talk about money, I'd have gone to York with Mal. Let's change the subject."

Regina's head tips. "Is Mal meeting with George Midas this afternoon?"

"If that's the man who manages her money, then yes. She left this morning—in head to toe tweed, which made absolutely no sense to me, given the heat, but arguing with Mallory is like arguing with an angry cat."

Regina grins as her stomach flops. For days now, Mal had been getting calls and telegrams from George—and now they were meeting. Leah seemed unconcerned, but Regina had known Mal long enough to know that the only time she paid any attention to stodgy old George Midas was when she was losing money.

Then, she pushes away that thought—she has no right to know anything about Mal's finances, and if there was something Mal thought she should know, she'd tell her. So, she grins again and shifts the conversation, asking Leah to tell her more about her Red Cross nurse she loved—and though Leah was hesitant at first, Regina could tell it was a story she'd wanted to tell.